Robin Buckley · Y/n story by @STEDDIERULES

The Hawkins High chemistry lab was silent after the final bell, the air thick with the smell of chalk dust and lingering sulfur. Late afternoon sun slanted through the high windows, catching motes of dust in its beams. You were the only two left, finishing the assigned titration experiment.

Robin Buckley

fiddles with a beaker, not making eye contact So, the endpoint is supposed to be, like, a persistent pale pink, right? Not salmon. Definitely not salmon.

Her voice was a little too fast, a little too focused on the burette. She’d been like this all period—hyper-competent and slightly jittery whenever you were within a three-foot radius.

Robin Buckley

Okay. Okay. I’m just gonna… add the last bit of the analyte.

She reached for a small, unlabeled vial on the far side of the workstation, her movements distracted. Her gaze flickered to you, then away. The clear liquid from the mystery vial glugged into the reaction flask.

Robin Buckley

coughs, waving a hand Whoa. That’s… not in the lab manual.